


Eureka

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bubble Bath, Dialogue Heavy, Dialogue-Only, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Foreplay, Pillow Talk, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Romantic Fluff, Sketches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan, who is constantly mulling over her relationship with her mother, comes to an important realization while taking a bubble bath.Reading recommended only if you really like the wider context of the series; please see Author's Notes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is more or less the writer's equivalent of a sketch dump: I have a lot of ideas about how to continue the Amabilis Insania series (the Adamant and Storm Coast missions, Alexius' interactions with Fenris, etc.), but I also have a huge workload coming up, so there's no telling if I'll be able to get it all written down properly. Thus, I had to include all my concepts in here, lest I forget them, and top it all off with some fluff. In other words, no stringent quality control was implemented. But at the same time, I did enjoy writing this, and I hope some of the enjoyment will rub off on the reader.

She drags herself up the stairs to her room with a prolonged groan, which ends in a squeaky whimper. To say that she is exhausted, after several rounds of fighting, first with Red Templars and then with a dragon and her brood, and also after running around Skyhold and making sure the new arrivals had settled in comfortably, would be not to say anything. Even twenty minutes in the communal bath, rinsing and scrubbing caked dragon blood off her body, have not left Yavanna feeling particularly refreshed... If anything, cleaning up all that gore, as well as mud and slimy algae traces (from climbing all those pencil-like rocks along the Storm Coast), has given her a persistent dull backache.   
  
But physical strain is merely a droplet in that deep, suffocating ocean, which now seems to be pulling her in, making it hard to move and to breathe. If it was just about being worn out from fighting creatures of all sizes and racing up the keep's countless staircases, she would have recovered much faster, and with much more ease. Just a couple of drinks with Bull, to celebrate yet another enormous dragon skull being added to their trophy list, would have been enough (incidentally, ever since their first dragon-slaying party, her drink of choice has always been a nice, strong herbal tea... nothing better for relaxation, that's for sure). But no, it is not about that, not by far: most of Yavanna's weariness comes from all the fear and anguish she has had to go through.   
  
First, she found out that the survivors from her clan, who had fled Wycome by sea in hopes of being taken in by the Inquisition, had been captured by Red Lyrium smugglers - and that sent a staggering pang of pain twisting its way up her stomach, her mind filling with visions of her elven family (what little remained of it, after that plague scare) being trapped in cages, ready to be devoured by the shimmering mass of crimson.  
  
Then, after cleaving her way through a host of Red Templars and saving her kin from being tainted with the vile crystalline corruption, Yavanna learned that her mother and a few other hunters had been separated from the rest of the group, as they made a desperate attempt to break free and find help, which only ended with them wrecking the leaky dinghy they'd stolen against a rock where a dragon had made her nest. After her mind properly processed how much danger her mother and the others had gotten themselves into, the pain ripped by Yavanna at her with even more ferocity, turning her desperately, blindly reckless: if, for some reason, her companions had stayed behind, she would have readily faced the winged beast all by herself... And would probably gotten stomped on in the first few seconds. Looking back, she is now eternally grateful to her friends, who did follow her to the dragon's lair - and especially to her beloved Gereon, who almost wore himself out into unconsciousness as he cast a powerful barrier, like the one he shielded himself with in the Dark Future in Redcliffe, to protect Yavanna from the dragon's decimating breath whenever her burning wish to save her clan mates got her too close to the raging beast. He understands, her dearest Gereon; he knows what it feels like, to be overwhelmed by the fear of losing your family.  
  
And at long last, after Gereon helped her survive an insane whirlwind of elemental magic and flashing weapons, Yavanna finally got to catch a breath and look her mother in the face and make certain that, apart from a couple of new scars, she was safe and sound. But her deep, long -awaited sigh of relief was abruptly cut short by a staggering torrent of insults. At first, Mamae's words didn't hurt too much, because Yavanna was just happy to see that at least some of her clan mates were alive; and she could see the fear in the older elf's eyes, making it obvious that she was still in shock after the battle, and half of what she was blurting out did not really mean anything - but then... Then, the twisting pain returned, for Mamae switched to what Bull calls hitting below the belt. She started saying... nasty things about Yavanna's friends.  
  
Yavanna didn't really blame her, as Mamae had grown up hating and distrusting humans, and after almost getting killed by them (on more than one occasion), it must have been hard to see her daughter in the company of the loathsome shems. Especially Commander Cullen, whose men had failed to arrive in time to save the clan from the Wycome mob (that was why he had set aside all his other duties and joined Yavanna on her journey to the Storm Coast... he was feeling personally responsible, bless his big noble heart). Oh, she had a few words to say about him; and even though Yavanna told herself that Mamae's anger was justified, at least in part, it did not stop her heart from bleeding. And then... And then Mamae noticed the way Gereon was squeezing Yavanna's hand every time she winced at the sound of those insults. She must have added it up to all the hurried but tight embraces they had shared after almost getting killed by a blast of dragon fire, in plain view of everyone else in the battlefield; perhaps she had even seen Gereon pulling Yavanna close to him and giving her a kiss on the forehead, after the great beast finally breathed its last, and they realized they were out of danger. All those little displays of affection, combined with Gereon's race and obvious age difference with Yavanna, left Mamae utterly stupefied (and she did not even know he was from Tevinter, and a former slave-owning Magister, no less!). When she was finally able to speak, her voice came out as a contemptuous hiss,  
  
'Is that part of your work as "Inquisitor"? Being an old shem's whore?'.  
  
That was when the constricting force that was clutching Yavanna's stomach reached its peak; breathing heavily, her heart pounding, she had to watch through a tearful fog as Gereon, her protective Gereon, towered over her mother, his face pale and contorted in pain in a way she had not seen since the earliest days of their friendship, when he was still a broken, defeated villain, who did not care for anything save for the fate of his son.  
  
This was not the first time someone made a derogatory remark about their relationship the moment they became aware of its existence: Livius Erimond, one of Gereon's former Venatori brethren, now captured and imprisoned by the Inquisition, is still quite fond of jeering at him whenever they cross paths - which, thankfully, does not happed too often, now that he has been locked away in a solitary cell (where he is supposed to think long and hard about what he did to the Wardens). Still, for some reason, it seems to give Erimond special pleasure to mock Gereon for exchanging the Elder One's cause for a 'tattooed elven concubine' (he even does not seem to particularly mind being tossed up by magic and rammed against the back wall of his cell in retaliation).  
  
And that Servis, the artifact trader, also could not resist the temptation to end his negotiations with the Inquisition by raising an eyebrow and making an offhand remark,  
  
'Do I get special privileges if I seduce the Inquisitor? Or does she have a preference for the old and the hideous?'  
  
But out of all those insinuations, it was the derisive sneer of Yavanna's mother that Gereon took particularly close to heart.  
  
'If you need someone to insult...' he said to the elven woman, his voice dangerously slow and his fingertips alight with magic (thankfully, Cullen noticed that and pulled him back in the middle of his vehement speech).  
  
'If you need someone to insult... I am always here to be spat at. Feel free to exercise in creativity: I assure you, you will not come up with anything that I haven't already said to myself. But leave Yavanna out of this! Her love is like the warmest, purest light; it nurtures and gives strength - and I will not have it sullied! Not by you, or anyone else!'  
  
Just the mere memory of that scene makes Yavanna's heart contract; she mentally prepares herself for tossing her limp, weary body onto the nearest horizontal surface (be it a bed or a sofa or a welcoming patch of soft thick carpet) and spending the rest of the night staring into nothingness and mulling over every miserable detail of the Clan Lavellan rescue... But instead, she has to pause at the very top of the stairs, her eyes rounded in astonishment.  
  
There are tiny candles floating all over her room, suspended in mid-air by what must be telekinetic magic; at a distance, they look like a swarm of fireflies - or maybe a glimmering constellation that has come alive and floated down from its right place in the sky. In the middle of this glowing magical cloud, aligned perfectly with the fireplace, there stands a large bath tub; Yavanna vaguely remembers seeing it around before: it was brought into her quarters as they were being furnished in that fancy Orlesian style, but she has barely used it, preferring to stand in line with everyone else and pour a bucket of water over herself, or to splash around in streams in the wilds, the way she used to do while living with her clan. But now someone seems to have brought the bulky old thing into the spotlight (literally) - and has also filled it with foamy water that, as Yavanna comes closer, turns out to give off a faint scent, subtle yet still slightly heady, like pine tree sap mixed in with some sort of... spice? She finds it quite pleasant, and for a moment, becomes distracted from her heavy thoughts by taking long, noisy sniffs, savouring the bath's aroma... Until she gets startled by the appearance of a small, vaguely bell-shaped figure that steps out of the hazy golden glow of the candles.  
  
'The bath was my idea, Inquisitor,' the sound of a female voice, with a pronounced Antivan accent, almost makes Yavanna whirl towards the ceiling (which would have surely set her hair on fire as she hit the candle cloud).  
  
'Commander Cullen was concerned about how the Storm Coast mission was affecting you, so I threw together some supplies and...'  
  
'Wow... Thanks Josephine...' Yavanna breathes out, gathering her wits. 'And Cullen is so thoughtful too! But... But I have already washed myself!'  
  
'Baths like this are not meant for cleansing,' another voice chimes in, immediately sending Yavanna's heart fluttering. 'Their purpose is to relax the body - and the mind'.  
  
A second figure emerges from behind Josephine's back - unobtrusive, almost apologetic, fingers tapping nervously against the brass fastenings at the front of his mage robe.  
  
'Messere Alexius helped with the more... fantastical elements of setting the scene,' Josephine points at the candles, and also at the faint tongues of mage fire, which Yavanna has only noticed just now: wrapping along the bottom of the bath, apparently with the purpose of keeping the water warm for her arrival.  
  
'There was also a lute here somewhere,' the mage adds, with a small cough, 'The plan was to make it float about and play itself... But then I grew afraid of going over the top'.  
  
Yavanna lets out a short, snort-like breath - the closest she has come to a laugh in several hours - and Gereon's eyes instantly light up with all too apparent joyful relief. They have not spoken properly since the journey back to Skyhold (during which, pretty much everyone had been stiff and silent and uncomfortable); and judging by the way he carries himself, Yavanna can tell that he is feeling bad about his outburst on the dragon island's coast... Well then, that means he needs to be reassured that he shouldn't feel bad! And if that is to be done under the pretext of getting ready for a bath, so be it.  
  
'Josephine, if you don't mind... Will you please let me and Messere Alexius have a few words in private?' Yavanna asks tentatively, lowering herself on a stool next to the tub and beginning to unwrap her scarf, which she threw in a mangled cocoon over her head after she finished washing herself, so as not to let her wet head grow too cold.  
  
'Of course, Inquisitor!' Josephine replies readily, and then flutters off, giving Gereon an encouraging look over her shoulder.  
  
The mage sighs and lowers himself on the floor next to Yavanna's stool, helping her pull off her boots, as she sits slumped and limp, fingering her discarded scarf mechanically.  
  
'Are you... Are you angry with me?' he asks quietly, looking up.  
  
Yavanna clumsily straightens up in her seat, wriggling her feet free of the boots as carefully as possible so as not to accidentally hit Gereon in the face. It is rather discomforting, seeing him in this submissive pose at her feet, and she would have very much preferred it if he got up.  
  
'I was never angry with you!' she hurries to tell him, her voice full of determination and sincerity. 'I was... a little scared at first... knowing what happened to Halward Pavus...'  
  
He straightens himself up (oh, great; finally!) and hangs his head on his chest (that is... not so great).  
  
'I feared as much,' he says. 'I... I apologize. It was unworthy, losing my temper again'.  
  
'You didn't let me finish!' Yavanna reaches out to him urgently from her stool; she would have gotten up as he did, but her backache decides differently.  
  
'I was scared, yes - because I know that none-shall-stand-in-my-way look of yours... But then - after the, uh, dust settled, and we got back to Skyhold - I began to feel worried that Cullen would... have you punished... That is his job, after all... Or used to be...'  
  
'The very same thought crossed my mind as well - but the Commander was surprisingly sympathetic,' Gereon's lips shape into his habitual sideways smirk. 'I suppose I... moved him with my little tirade. I could almost hear the cogs turn inside his head as he struggled to say something supportive but was too embarrassed to properly string all those pesky words together. In the end we agreed that...'  
  
He looks away momentarily, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.  
  
'That your mother does not appreciate you the way she should. To put it mildly'.  
  
Yavanna sighs. Perhaps it is her duty as a daughter to leap to Mamae's defense, to start fumbling for explanations, excuses... But truth be told, she is far, far too tired for that. So instead, she closes her eyes and says, her lips beginning to twitch,  
  
'I have always tried so hard to make her proud... To make her stop regretting my birth... But she only ever saw the bad things in me; she only ever thought of me as a disgrace... her disgrace... And even when I arrived... as a heroic Inquisitor... to save the day... And helped her kill a dragon... The first thing that crossed her mind was something... improper... and untrue...'  
  
Somewhere along the way, while still in the middle of talking, she feels that clutching pang of pain again; and then, a familiar hot prickle scorches her eyes. Here it comes: one of these silly sobbing fits, which have a tendency of creeping up out of nowhere whenever too many feelings get heaped up on her. Normally, she is more than generous with smiles and laughter and songs; but there are times, like tonight, when her heart seems to wear through her chest, and she feels lost and overwhelmed. Not everyone is aware of her having these moments of weakness; not everyone knows that the Inquisitor does not always walk with a spring in her step and fight off the darkness of the world with a pearly grin. Gereon, however, is one of the few people who do know; and just as Yavanna is always ready to comfort him when he is battling his own demons, so he is ready to repay her in kind.  
  
'Are you going to go through with this bath, amata?' he asks her softly, casting a concerned look at her blotchy face.   
  
She slants her eyes towards the warm, welcoming tub, and inhales the piney scent again.  
  
'That... That would be nice,' she mutters, barely moving her lips, her breathing strained and uneven, as weary sobs rattle her from within.  
  
While Yavanna remains seated, the mage does his best to help her extricate herself from the rest of her clothing. This is far from being the first time when he undresses her; usually, he does it in a more leisurely, sensual manner, as she catches teasingly at his lips with hers, her eyes alight with anticipation. But now is not the time for such games; that was not his intention when he helped Josephine prepare the bath (no matter how meaningfully she may have batted her eyelashes at him while Yavanna was gazing in awe at the 'romantic candles' he had enchanted for her). Now, his only task, and a crucial one at that, is to soothe his elven lover; to help her rest.  
  
With all the layers of fabric out of the way, Yavanna steps away from her stool, leaving behind a lopsided heap of clothing, and gets into the tub, clutching instinctively at Gereon's arm for support. As she lowers herself into the foamy water, it envelops her in a soft, white, drowsily warm blanket, and the pained tension slowly begins to leave her body, while she allows herself to languidly stretch her arms and legs and relax her throbbing spine.  
  
She is still hiccupping a little, but no new sobs come, and after a while, her breathing falls back to a steady rhythm. All the haunting thoughts of her mother, and lingering worries for the fate of her clan, fade away into the very back of her mind and, at least for the time being, she wants nothing more than to watch the slow, circling dance of the floating candles overhead. Lying back with a hearty sigh of contentment, she allows the scented waves to caress her body, the tiny bubbles tickling her skin, while the candles keep casting their mesmerizing golden light on the rippling water. The tang of spice and pine seems to grow stronger, letting a sort of golden giddiness flow through her body with every breath she takes - as if she had stopped in a clearing in the middle of a sunlit forest and taken a leaping, dancing spin round and round and round, the might conifers swaying overhead like mast of ships that rise and fall on the waves. The mental image makes her smile, and even chuckle to herself, as she splashes lazily among the feather-light flakes of foam.  
  
Gereon, in the meanwhile, tries his best not to disturb her; but she still wakes from her blissful reverie when, after what feels like an eternity of lazy basking in the heated water, she suddenly spots him out of the corner of her eye, attempting to stealthily walk out of the room and leave her to her bathing.   
  
'Vhenan,' she calls out to him, using the customary elven endearment (just as he, in turn, adorns his speech with flowery Tevene whenever he is addressing her). Her expression is both eager and agitated, as she has been struck by a sudden impulse to speak her mind - to give shape to a thought that has unexpectedly pierced through the contented haze, re-awakening her mind from its rest.  
  
The mage turns around, retracing his steps to the tub.  
  
'How are you feeling?'  
  
'Better,' Yavanna beams at him. 'Josephine is a genius! And that thing you did with the candles... Wait, this is not what I was going to say! I was going to tell you that...'  
  
She moves about in the tub, the water sloshing heavily around her, and leans over the edge, managing to catch hold of Gereon's hand.  
  
'...That, despite what people keep assuming, my feelings for you are sincere. And I can't imagine a world where you are not by my side. It makes me so happy and proud that I helped you heal - and I am never letting you go!'.  
  
He lowers himself on his knees again, making his face level with Yavanna's; he is smiling, too overwhelmed with emotion to speak - and this time, it is a proper, open smile, not just a crooked smirk.  
  
Yavanna lowers her head, burying her nose in foam.  
  
'That was... probably very random... But I just felt like letting you know that... If being in love with you makes me a whore, then I am going to be the whoriest whore that ever whored!'  
  
Gereon's face falls.  
  
'You are not...' he begins, sounding a little hoarse.  
  
Yavanna leans out even further and, disregarding the fact that she is dripping soapy water all over the poor mage's robes (and also splattering them with bits of foam that keep floating away from the large fuzzy blob that covers her chest) wraps her wet, glistening arms around him.  
  
'I was joking!' she says, punctuating her reassuring exclamation with a wet, fragrant kiss on both of Gereon's cheekbones. 'Rather... lamely, I'll admit... But wait - I still haven't gotten to my point! You see... For so many years, I have been tying myself into knots, trying to keep myself from disappointing Mamae, and wondering what on earth was wrong with me whenever I failed... And then, just now, as I caught sight of you tiptoeing about, all attentive and considerate and all... It suddenly hit me'.   
  
She grins broader than ever before, the rejuvenating bath having clearly returned her to her usual energetic self.  
  
'What we have, you and I - it can't be wrong, can it? I... I never felt more right about anything in my life than when I chose your judgement... when instead of being your jailor, I decided to become your friend! And if this - our friendship, and our love - if it is right, and Mamae thinks it's wrong... Then it has to mean that _she_ is wrong! And she must have been wrong before - about me!.. I am not a selfish brat, I am not a nuisance - I am not a disgrace! I... I actually matter - as a person; as myself! And I don't have to go about proving to people that my arrival in this world was for the better! I mean, I will never _not_ enjoy making others happy, but I don't have to turn it into a... a penance for being born! Do I?'  
  
The mage shakes his head, gazing into the elf's widened, gleeful eyes.  
  
'No,' he murmurs, helping her settle back into the bath, 'You don't. I have been trying to tell you that, time and time again... But I suppose I forgot what every teacher should always bear in mind: you cannot cram a thought into a person's head by force. It has to occur to them on their own'.  
  
'And gods, did it occur to me!' Yavanna laughs, hitting the water in front of her knees with an emphatic splash. The motion makes the last remnants of foam slide off her chest, exposing her breasts. She blushes and shakes her head,  
  
'Look at me: talking about life-changing discoveries while stark naked!.. I... I should probably get all this foam off me, and climb out of here and get some sleep - because first thing in the morning, I am going to find my mother, and try to make her see that she's been wrong'.  
  
'If she deigns to listen,' Gereon mutters, fumbling along the edge of the tub for a sponge (a useful Orlesian accessory, also part of Josephine's supplies), which he carefully soaks in water and then squeezes, rinsing off the foam that covers Yavanna.  
  
'Well, you know me and giving people the benefit of the doubt,' the elf points out - and then falls silent, a dreamy smile spreading across her face as the water from the sponge trickles down her back.   
  
'Oooh my, that felt good!' she says after a few moments of savouring the feeling. 'Can you do it again? Actually - can you do a bit more? Because, you know... to fall asleep, I need to get tired first - and this lovely bath has chased all the tiredness out of me'.  
  
'Are you... Are you certain about this?' Gereon asks, biting into his lower lip. 'You have been through so much these past few days...'  
  
'Yes, I know... I almost lost my clan right after finding it; I had to crawl over slimy rocks under the thrashing waves; I helped Cullen stop a Red Templar smuggling operation; and I would have gotten chewed up by a dragon, if it were not for your magic... I thought it would take me ages to recover from all these misadventures... But it turns out that a nice, long hot bath was just what I needed. And I am pretty certain about what else I need. Your touch. On my body. For as long as possible'.  
  
Gereon tilts his head to the side, regarding Yavanna with a slowly broadening smile.  
  
'I... I would be lying if I told you that... that I was uninterested in...'  
  
'Well then, get to it!'  
  
Readily obeying this impatient command, he shifts closer to the tub, plunging the sponge into the water again and letting the water trace its way across Yavanna's skin in gleaming wet ribbons. He squeezes at it more slowly this time, taking care to not to miss an inch of the elf's upper back and shoulders; then pauses for a moment, and moves on to her chest, making her draw a swift, excited breath.  
  
After there is no more water to twist out of the sponge, he set it aside and retraces the little trickles with his fingertips, playfully tickling the back of Yavanna's neck, then moving on to gently stroke her chest, just barely touching her nipples - just enough to get a feel of how hardened they've become. Her breath then turns into a pleasured moan, and she lifts herself up from the water, exposing her thighs so that her lover can caress them too.  
  
'Tell me about Adamant again,' she says suddenly, her voice sounding a little thick, slurred even, just as Gereon leans down and, giving in to a mischievous urge, licks the remaining droplets of water off her leg.  
  
After hearing her speak, however, he hastens to look up, looking a little dazed.  
  
'Adamant?' he repeats, some of his fresh, exhilarated flush fading away from his face. 'That... That is hardly a subject for pillow talk, not with all that you faced...'  
  
Yavanna shakes her head, bending forward and embracing him again.  
  
'I meant the part when I came out of the Rift...' she whispers into his ear, with frequent pauses to press her lips against the bristling grey hairs on his temples. 'I... I need to hear that part one more time... To be even more sure... About myself...'  
  
Gereon nods in understanding and, standing up, slowly lifts Yavanna up to her feet, supporting her with one hand and weaving a new telekinetic spell with the other - this time, to lift up the towel that has been lying ready somewhere further away from the tub (Yavanna did not really pay attention to where, too absorbed by enjoying the candlelight and the warm foam). After the towel makes its way towards them through the air, the mage flicks his wrist to make it drape itself around the elf in soft folds. Stepping over the tub's edge, Yavanna rubs the towel carelessly against her skin a couple of times. Then, deeming herself dry enough, she moves towards the bed, her bare soles making a faint plopping noise against the stone; Gereon follows, completely giving in to the commanding pull of her hand, which is tightly interwoven with his.  
  
And here it is, that moment she has been envisioning - the one when she falls back onto the covers, and stares upwards. Only instead of being physically and emotionally drained, she now feels refreshed and excited - and most importantly, she is not alone. Her Gereon has lain himself down next to her, their hands still clasped together, and turned his head to look into her eyes, smiling.  
  
'On the battlements of Adamant Fortress, I fought side by side with the elven warrior who helped us put an end to the slavers in the Approach,' he begins, lowering his voice to a soft murmur, the sound of which makes Yavanna purr in evident enjoyment, as she moves closer to him, her free hand instinctively seeking out the fastenings of his robe.  
  
'You know how much he resented me for my past; I wouldn't be surprised if he still does... And at the time, he may have engaged in... rather unfriendly banter with me... But I did not care about that - or about the demons that reared their heads in front of me, an unending torrent that I tried to quell... I did not care about anything, save for the thought that you had disappeared into a Rift, and that there was no way of telling if you would ever come back. And then...'  
  
He lets go of her hand and traces his fingers along her neck again, all the while never breaking his gaze. She returns his affectionate touch by resting her hand on his chest, which she has by now exposed. The hairs that he shaved off, in a rather overzealous attempt to impress her, are growing back again, and she takes great pleasure in stroking them.  
  
After a few moments of silent caresses, he continues, a flicker of reminiscence lighting up in his eyes.   
  
'And then, in a bright green flash, you reappeared on the battlefield, together with the Champion. And, forgetting all about our strife, the warrior and I both rushed towards the two of you; he embraced his beloved Hawke, and I... and I embraced you. And as I heard your heart beat next to mine, I felt so utterly happy that I felt like unleashing a burst of brightest magic, blinding everyone all around me... You fell into the jaws of the raw Fade - and you survived. You returned to me - and I couldn't be more thankful'.  
  
'Because I matter?' Yavanna asks breathlessly.  
  
'Because you matter,' Gereon echoes, warming her sensitive elven ear with his whisper - in between kisses on her neck and at the base of her jaw.  
  
'Regardless of what your mother had you believe - you matter. You always have. Amata mea... Vita mea... Carissima puella...'  
  
His voice trails off into a chain of Tevene endearments, which he intermingles with even more kisses, gradually exploring more and more of Yavanna's bare skin, as she has wriggled herself out of her towel, sliding her hands underneath Gereon's robe, which by now is also shamelessly askew. She revels in the sound of his voice - but the words that he murmurs all blend together, serving as a background for that short but incredibly meaningful phrase that he repeated after her.  
  
She matters.  
  
She matters. And tomorrow, after she is sated and rested, she will do her utmost to make Mamae see that.


End file.
